Just then, the pitch-black monster recovered from Zane's strike. The Black Sword lashed out in an instant, colliding head-on with the wooden sword.
The moment the blades met, a sharp, grating sound rang out—not the clean chime of clashing steel, but the ugly hiss of flesh meeting fire. It was jarring, unpleasant.
The clash lasted only a heartbeat before the weapons parted. Zane drew his sword back, but the monster twisted its body, sliding its blade aside before stepping in and bringing it up in an upward thrust.
The Black Sword shot toward him, and Zane knew better than to take it lightly. As he'd said before, this fight was evenly matched. Victory wouldn't come easily.
He stepped back half a pace to shorten the sword's reach and limit its ability to change angles, then raised his weapon to parry. That harsh, grating sound rang out again.
This time, with both sides putting in full force, the impact threw them apart. The monster staggered back two steps, and Zane mirrored the movement.
He didn't pause. Planting one foot, he pushed forward again, using his turn to launch himself upward. His body spun in midair, the long sword whipping around before coming down in a brutal overhead strike.
The monster couldn't afford to take that blow head-on. It tried to retreat, but the wooden blade descended faster than it could move. Even with its timely reaction, the sword tip still carved a wound across its chest.
White vapor hissed from the cut as flecks of black matter began to dissolve under the wooden sword's touch, fading bit by bit in an effort to resist its power.
The monster looked momentarily unsettled. Zane had no intention of letting this slip away—press the advantage was something Qingyi had literally drilled into him, tugging at his ear for emphasis.
Landing from his strike, the wooden sword slammed into the ground, leaving his upper body wide open. He didn't care. The monster had been driven back; there was no way it could counter immediately.
That was exactly why he dared to use such a wide, committed attack.
The blade rose from the dirt as Zane sidestepped forward, thrusting like a spear.
The stab wasn't meant for power—it was light, quick, and full of follow-up options. Perfect for probing the opponent's guard while keeping escape routes open.
As expected, it missed. The monster retreated again, and this time Zane let it. It had regained its balance, the Black Sword raised and ready.
Know when to stop, don't get carried away—another lesson Qingyi had drilled into him the same way.
The fight settled into a brief stalemate, but not for long.
Zane feinted a forward thrust, drawing the monster's guard upward, then abruptly took a long step to the side, twisting his body before lunging low and fast.
He shot forward like an arrow loosed from the string, vanishing from sight for a split second. When he reappeared, the monster's swing had cut nothing but air.
Sliding past the Black Sword's range, Zane was suddenly at its back.
With both hands gripping the hilt, his whole body drove the wooden blade into a sweeping horizontal slash—unstoppable in force, like the swing of a reaper's scythe.
The monster froze. A surge of danger crashed over it.
It spun its sword back in defense, but with little force. The moment their blades met, the Black Sword was batted away.
It flipped through the air, retreating from the momentum of Zane's swing, before springing upward above him. Pulling the Black Sword back, it stabbed downward in a counterattack.
Its strength, speed, and reflexes let it dodge his strike and turn the tables in one fluid motion.
Now Zane was on the defensive. His blade was too far committed to pull back. Staying calm, he dropped his stance, letting the momentum carry him sideways. That single shift gave him precious extra space.
The Black Sword drove into the ground, missing him by inches. Zane rolled twice to the side, came up on his feet, and snapped a high side kick upward.
This time, the monster didn't scatter its body—it had learned from before. It raised a hardened arm to block.
The impact was heavy, forcing it to step half a pace sideways to bleed off the force.
Zane didn't let up. Instead of lowering his leg, he swung his planted foot up in a whipping kick.
With one hand still holding the wooden sword aloft, the other braced against the ground, he twisted his airborne body, bringing the sword up in a sudden vertical slash.
The monster couldn't avoid it. The blade sliced clean through its arm, the severed limb dissolving into ash.
Even so, it didn't falter—its one remaining arm whipped the Black Sword in a horizontal cut, catching Zane before he could fully recover and opening a gash across his shoulder.
The sting barely registered. He was long accustomed to pain.
Driving his sword downward, Zane met the monster's block. This time, the blades didn't part. They pressed against each other in a contest of strength.
Then, a strange halo shimmered over the monster's form. Zane's guard rose instantly, but the glow lasted only a few breaths before vanishing—revealing not the black creature, but Qingyi.
Green hair spilling down her shoulders.
Zane's pupils narrowed. His jaw clenched. Both hands tightened on the hilt, and he brought the sword down in a forceful strike.
The false Qingyi, seeing that the Black Sword wouldn't hold, stepped back. But Zane gave it no time to breathe, his sword slashing down again.
Their blades met with another screech, sparks of energy flaring. Zane's expression stayed cold, his gaze locked on the impostor as he steadily pressed forward.
It bared its teeth, feigning a pitiful look—but that only made him yank his sword free and bring it down in an even heavier blow.
The impact drove the false Qingyi's stance lower. Zane gave a short, cold laugh.
"Clever... but too fake. You'll never understand—and of course you won't. You are pain. How could you?"
"Master would never use her life to threaten me... and she'd never stand in my way."
He tore his blade free and drove a punch toward its chest. The false Qingyi scattered into fragments, and Zane seized the moment—his other hand snapping the wooden sword forward, body turning with the motion into a sweeping slash.
This time, it had no way to dodge. The blade carved a deep wound, the sound of it harsh, and the injury healed at a snail's pace.